Khartoum Page #8

"Is it true that...

"the Major Kitchener

has big dark eyes...

"like flies in the night?"

And he say it's true...

that his eyes

are like black daggers...

and before them,

all men tremble.

The Major Kitchener has eyes

as blue as little flowers.

The man was bragging.

He'd never seen Kitchener.

He didn't want to say so.

That's true, master.

If he was lying...

how could he know about that

ring I gave Stewart Pasha?

Anyway, if the Mahdi wanted

to send me a false message...

why would he say

the soldiers were coming?

It makes no sense, Khaleel.

That is right, master.

Tell Abdullah he may make

his preparations.

Then he must come to me.

Where did you get this?

The Mahdi asks you to come

to his tent in peace.

A faluka awaits you

at the ivory trader's dock.

I am his first Khalifa Abdullah,

and I remain here.

I am your hostage.

You will not regard it

as a discourtesy, I hope...

if I lock you in.

If I'm not back by dawn,

you'll be shot.

Welcome, Gordon Pasha.

Come in peace.

How did this come to you?

It came to you with

the greetings of your friend...

far down the river,

Sheikh Ali lbrahim...

of the Manasir people.

Sheikh Ali lbrahim

has been induced...

by my friend and great emir

Mohammed al Khalia...

to acknowledge me

as the Expected One...

the true Mahdi.

He sends you assurance...

that should you care

to proceed down the Nile...

he will offer you safe passage.

You are my guest.

Why do you invite me here now?

Because the Prophet Mohammed,

blessings be upon him...

has appeared to me

in a vision...

and instructed me to attack

Khartoum with fire and sword.

20,000 angels will proceed

my men into battle.

And terror will afflict

and subdue my enemies...

as far as Mecca and Baghdad

and Constantinople...

for all will know

what a truly great miracle...

has been done

by my Lord Mohammed.

I should prefer, Gordon Pasha,

that you leave Khartoum now.

You are not my enemy.

Why should your blood

sweeten the Nile?

What you are saying is this...

so long as I am in Khartoum

you dread to attack...

for a British army is close,

and you know it well.

A British army.

The message.

I sent the message.

There is no British army.

Your soldiers are in Egypt.

They play cards,

drink the liquor, pursue women.

Why would you send me

a false message?

It is sometimes wise,

Gordon Pasha...

to provide a man

with a few sunny hours...

of fraudulent hope

so that when night comes...

he will have a more

perfect inward vision...

of the truth

of his hopelessness.

I sent the message.

There is no British army.

You are alone.

Quite alone.

If this is true...

then what difference

can it make to you...

if one man leaves or stays?

It is important to me.

Please explain to me

the importance.

Because I am a man of mercy!

And I tell you go!

Leave in safety. Now.

You are not a man of mercy...

for your visions have not

revealed to you what mercy is...

and so why do you do this?

You are not my enemy.

But I am.

You should understand,

Mohammed Ahmed...

we are so alike, you and I.

You would welcome death,

wouldn't you...

if death could be

the servant of your life?

Wouldn't you?

I, too.

If my life has a single point,

it's this...

I've learned to be

unafraid of death...

but never to be unafraid

of failure.

If by the act

of surrendering my life...

I can bring down

the world on your head...

then it's an arrangement

I welcome.

Do you understand?

I'm sure you do.

If you,

as a servant of your God...

must use 100,000 warriors

to destroy me...

a solitary servant of my God...

then you whisper to me,

Mohammed Ahmed...

who will be remembered

from Khartoum...

your God or mine?

But Gordon Pasha,

why should you be remembered?

You are forgotten.

Already.

Is it possible

you still do not believe me?

I do not believe any infidel,

even you, Gordon Pasha...

can face a lonely death

without terror.

Is it the Englishman

whose name was Frank Power?

Is it the Frenchman

whose name was Herbin?

Is it not your own ring?

Do you leave Khartoum?

I cannot leave Khartoum...

Mohammed Ahmed...

for I, too, perform miracles...

and you shall witness one.

While I may die of your miracle,

you will surely die of mine.

Sir! The river!

So.

Here we are.

All right, then, gentlemen.

Fire!

Get back!

Fire one!

Well, Khaleel.

Take it away!

That is Abdullah.

I forbade it.

The relief came two days late.

Two days!

And for fifteen years,

the Sudanese paid the price...

with pestilence and famine,

the British with shame and war.

Within months after Gordon died,

the Mahdi died.

Why, we shall never know.

Gordon rests

in his beloved Sudan.

We cannot tell how long

his memory will live...

but there is this...

"A world with no room

for the Gordons...

"is a world that will

return to the sands."

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